Chances
by Lucille Mabel
Summary: Literati. Instead you let a simple, “Huh,” escape your lips. Your mind quickly goes over the idea about how if you were a superhero that would be your catchphrase. Oneshot.


**A/N: **This has probably been done before but it came to my mind this morning and it was pestering me, so here it is.

**CHANCES **

You sit there and wonder why everything has happened the way it has. You're watching the people outside the Truncheon windows; they're minding their own business and you're invading theirs. Some are smiling, some are in deep conversation with another, one looks like she's got a personal vendetta against the word. Your mouth twists into the slightest smirk as she goes by. You don't know what it is, but for some reason you're drawn to her. You grab you jacket and tell one of the guys you're going for a walk. By the time you reach the chilly breeze of the winter bound city you see the woman's high pony tail bob around the corner. Your pace quickens into a slow jog as you go after her. By the time you reach the corner and take a sharp turn, she's gone.

A minute later you're back inside the building that you call home and you're heading straight for your lap top. A month later and you've finished another short novel. That mysterious woman has become your protagonist, maybe your antagonist…you aren't sure what category to place her in. Again, you're left to ponder what would have happened had you not watched her walk by. Would you have been another one of those authors who can't seem to write anything good after their one, best-selling novel? You shake the thought from your head and decide the whole situation happened by chance—a possible streak of good luck. You take your new manuscript to your publisher and they are head over heels from it. You don't stop to wonder why the hell they would love a piece of crap that only took you a month to write; instead you shrug and accept the royalty check they hand you.

You don't really need the money these days thanks to the unheard of success of that other piece of shit you wrote. You're grateful but deep down you know that The Subsect was only written to prove a point—to show that a select few people from your past were right—you could do more. You find yourself shaking the thought away. You don't allow yourself to dwell on memories of the past that often anymore. You decide one day you'll unlock the safe that stores the memories. You'll pour your heart into a novel that you won't publish. It'll be a catharsis of sorts. You haven't decided if you would share that one with _her_.

You hastily go to the bank and cash your check. It's a hefty sum and you decide you're going to waste it on a little game of chance. You say, "Red," as you put all your chips onto the table. The little metallic ball spins swiftly on the roulette. After a moment, you watch it start to slow and you wonder if the fifty percent chance of you winning is actually a possibility. Your heart doesn't even drop when the ball lands on black. It's been through too much to be sad over a little money lost. _Little_, you think bitterly. When did you get so high on a pedestal that you consider five grand 'little'? You walk away from the table and delve into thought about how you're not the least bit disappointed. You're sure you need some sort of psychoanalysis to determine what the fuck is wrong with you. In your own mind, you decide it's because your whole life has been based on chances and you're usually on the losing end. You're walking down the street as you laugh cynically, wondering what weight the analysis of a crazy person has on fate. People are staring at you but you don't give a damn.

You walk back to Truncheon and when you arrive you're surprised to see a girl from your past. You fight the urge to smile because you know she's only here because something's wrong in her life. Your eyes stare stoically into hers for a few minutes where everything is silent. It isn't until that third minute that you notice her azure eyes brimming with tears. You want to say something but you'll wait for her. She was the one that came to you this time and right now she's silently asking you to listen. It takes another few minutes of staring for the first tear to fall. It's almost as if the drip was the start of the long conversation that was to come. Not necessarily long because you or her has a plethora of things to say to the other, long because what was once a comfortable silence that surrounded you both has become awkward and jagged. " Logan asked me to marry him," she states simply. Her voice is quivering and you want to comfort her. You also want to inquire why the fuck she's here if her 'perfect' boyfriend—fiancé—has decided that he wants to spend the rest of his life with her. Instead you let a simple, "Huh," escape your lips. Your mind quickly goes over the idea about how if you were a superhero that would be your catchphrase. You shake your head slightly to wash the bizarre thought out of your mind. You know you need to give her your complete attention. You're almost glad that you listened…_almost_. She tells you that she said 'No' and that she wasn't ready to be settled down. You can't help it when a snide remark comes out of your mouth. You say, "You were pretty set that you wanted to be with him last year. I vaguely remember you saying something about being in love with him." You add the word 'vaguely' for your comfort and her discomfort. You know the memory is not vague at all; it's as vivid as if it happened last week and not over a year ago. You make a note to put it in that mental safe. It's not something you want available to you at any given moment.

You're surprised at her reaction to your statement. She actually smiles and your mind starts to go. You think you're getting crazier and crazier by the day. You blame it on that crazy town that you never wanted to call home. Your surprise continues when her next words come in a near whisper, "I realized that he's not the one I want to spend my life with." The urge to roll your eyes is like a strong current and you're currently stuck in the rapids. You want to pretend you didn't catch her insinuation. You want to have never walked in the room with her here. You want to want to never see her again. However, you know that'll never happen. You don't want to be rude but you've been down this road with her before. You look her straight in the eyes and you inform her, "I'm tired of being your rebound." She looks at you confused and her tears continue to fall. Your rub your eyes because you almost can't stand to look at her as you continue your statement, albeit halfheartedly. "First after Dean, then last year after Logan…and here you are again." You take a deep breath before you finish, "You can't expect me to wait forever." You watch her as she nods slowly. She's obviously deep in her own thought and you wonder what she's thinking. She's looking down at the floor now and you can't really read her expression. She murmurs something and you ask her to repeat herself. Her eyes flash a brilliant shade of blue as they return to yours. "But I love you." She states in an almost pleading manner. It's the first time she's told you this and you're dying to say it back. She looks at you expectedly like her words could solve all of the problems you two share. You're close to returning her words but that'd be too easy and the chance of you two working out is close to null. Together, you're like an exploding bomb waiting for the right moment to set off. Your throat is dry and you swallow deeply, your Adam's apple moving as you do so. Your brain is screaming, 'I love you,' but instead you offer her a sad smile. She nods her head in understanding and she quickly walks passed you and out the door. She's missed her chance and you've missed yours. There's nothing new there.

Your next meeting is hardly anything but chance. It can't even be blamed on coincidence or bizarre circumstances. It's another year later and your uncle is getting married to her mother. It's obviously no coincidence that you're the best man and she's the maid of honor. You walk into the Dragonfly for the reception and you notice she smiles as your arrive. You wave slightly and you both pretend that everything is alright. You actually have something for her and it is déjà vu all over again when you mention you wrote a book. It's your third one and she's nothing more than proud but when you tell her that's the only copy she starts to squirm. "It's not something I wanted published," you tell her as she fingers through the bound manuscript. She looks at you confused but tells you she's happy that she's the only owner. You look at her wondering what she'll think after she's finished it.

It's a week later and you're back in Philadelphia. It's three in the morning when your phone rings. You just went to bed an hour ago and you're irritated when you answer the phone with a groggy, "What?" There's silence on the other end for a moment and you hear whoever it is shuffling. Your ears are strained when you barely hear three simple words on the other end. "I finished it," she says and you're suddenly wide awake. It's as if you've silently asked her what she thought of it when she continues, her voice louder now, "Jess…it's…why did you write that?" You snicker into the receiver as you recall the reason you came up with over a year ago. Your reply is simple as you tell her, "Catharsis." You can almost hear her laying back on her bed…or maybe someone else's bed. You're not sure anymore; you didn't ask her at the wedding. "Oh," she states. "It was very…" she pauses as she thinks up the right word, "unfortunate." You find her word choice amusing and are grinning like an idiot because that's exactly what you were going for. "I know," you reply before saying, "It is what it is." You hear her breath become scattered, "I really hate that saying." She informs you and you can't stifle a chuckle while you tell her that you do too. You finish the conversation by telling her, "Probability was never on our side."

She hangs up after that and you're once again wondering why things have happened the way they have. You think for a moment that it's because of destiny but scratch it quickly off of your hypothetical list because 'destiny' would infer that there was some higher being controlling you like a marionette—that things happen for a reason. You've never really believed in God so you instead decide that everything that's happened in your life (especially the part that's shared with _her_) isn't quite as complicated as you two like to make it. Everything that you've blamed on chance—everything that you've gained from chance—hasn't happened because you were sitting by idly. You reach for your phone and call her back using the number she's left imprinted on your Caller I.D. She knows it's you and as she picks up the phone, she doesn't even bother with pleasantries. "I love you," you tell her for the first time in five years. This time you are more prepared to say it and you are more prepared to wait for an answer. In the silence between her reply you briefly wonder if you've somehow managed to increase the odds in your favor. It's then that you realize that chance is not something that just happens, it requires action. You hold the phone close to your ear as you wait for her to say something. You know she's still there because you can hear her breathing quietly.

Suddenly, you hear, "I love you too."

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A/N: **Review? **


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